


The Glitter Thing

by BuzzCat



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: (which apparently wasn't a tag but definitely should be), Gen, Stanford Pines Has Good Intentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2019-06-22 19:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15589071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuzzCat/pseuds/BuzzCat
Summary: Ford has been noticing glitter around the house and has yet to find a cause. Therefore, the only logical conclusion is that some sort of magical creature is now living in the house.The answer is somehow exactly that and precisely not that. Also, Ford has the best intentions but dubious implementation methods.





	1. Chapter 1

It was everywhere.

Not so much that at first glance you could tell. It’s not like he opened the door and the first thing he saw was a pile of glitter. But it was just enough that it felt…insidious.

It somehow seemed to have wormed its way into everything around the house. It was stuck to the inside of cups in the kitchen, dotted about the living room and hallways, and had become an integral part of the recliner. Even the giftshop hadn’t escaped unscathed. But where did it come from?

He ran scans and set up traps around the house. Not enough to disturb Stan and the kids, but little faerie traps. He kept an eye out for leprecorns or unicorns are anything else that radiated sunshine and glitter. But as much as Ford looked for a source, nothing appeared.

It was almost two weeks after he got out of the portal that he figured it out. He was hugging the kids good-night (or rather, it was a nod to Dipper and a hug for Mabel) when he looked down after they went upstairs and saw the glittering substance clinging to the sleeves of his sweater. He tried to brush it away, but no such luck. It seemed to stick to his hands, his sweater, anything it came in contact with. He was trying viciously to blow it off of his skin when Stanley caught him in the hallway. He laughed at his brother’s antics,

“I see your glitter experience has hit saturation.”

Ford looked up at him, frowning, “Where the devil is it all coming from?”

“Mabel.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stanley.”

“Alright, I’ll quit being ridiculous,” Stan said, the joking expression gone from his face. He glared at Ford and mumbled as he walked away, “Should have known he wouldn’t take my word for it anyway.”

Ford felt some vague twinge of guilt at his brother’s words, but he pushed it aside. It was impossible that his great niece managed to…to shed that much glitter. She’d only been here what, a few months? The house couldn’t have reached saturation point that fast. No, it had to be some sort of magical beast who’d set up shop after he’d left.

Ford began his investigation the way he’d begun everything other quest after a magical beast: by setting a trap and lying in wait. Of course, it was rather difficult to set a trap for a thing when he didn’t know what it was, but he did his best. Small piles of sweets around the house, a little saucer of milk left out overnight. It was the best he could do when he didn’t know what he was looking for.

Between the gnomes that always managed to break in and his great-niece and nephew that he couldn’t say no to when they asked for candy, those traps proved rather ineffectual.

Late one night, Ford sat in the kitchen and stared at his notebook. He was back to the same question as before: where did it all come from?

“Hey Great Uncle Ford,” Dipper said, walking into the kitchen and going about getting a glass of water. Ford started and looked up at his great-nephew.

“Good evening, Dipper. I thought you were already asleep?”

“Nah, Mabel keeps squeezing her unicorn toy and it won’t stop talking.”

“A unicorn toy? Does, by chance, leave glitter everywhere?” Ford asked. Dipper shook his head,

“Not really. It just sort of encourages everyone to buy its forty-two accessories.” Dipper took a sip of water and shook his head, “Marketing, man.”

“Of course, of course,” Ford said absentmindedly before asking, “Dipper, is there a reason this house is covered in glitter?”

“Hm?”

“I mean, look at this,” Ford held up his arm and gestured at the various bits of glitter stuck to his sweater. Dipper looked over and shrugged,

“I mean, yeah? It’s just Mabel.”

“What do you mean? I’ve never seen her have any glitter out.”

Dipper stared at him like he’d grown an extra head and Ford got the distinct impression that what he’d just said was very stupid. But Dipper let it slide, saying,

“I mean, there’s her crafting glitter that she gets out sometimes, but the rest of it is just Mabel.”

“What do you mean, ‘just Mabel’?” Ford was sufficiently confused. Dipper held up his own arm, where Ford could see glitter stuck in the boy’s very thin arm hair.

“I mean, it’s literally Mabel. She just kind of leaves glitter everywhere. Has ever since we were little.”

“You mean Mabel is an anomaly?” Ford asked in excitement. Was his great-niece not entire human? Perhaps some faerie blood got mixed in between his generation and hers, though Ford refused to contemplate exactly how that could have happened. Dipper, however, shrugged,

“I mean, kind of. She literally leaves a trail of glitter around, but when I ask her about she just kind of shrugs. So it’s not like she’s overly attached to the idea of being an anomaly, despite the fact that she _literally leaves a trail of glitter_ even when she hasn’t touched any in days.”

“Dipper, this is amazing! We can—”

“Do nothing.” Ford jumped and turned to see Stan standing on the stairs behind him. Stan was glowering at him and, to a lesser extent, Dipper. Ford frowned,

“Stanley, this is—”

“Your great-niece, Poindexter, so I’ll thank you to not go treating her like one of your experiments. She is perfectly happy how she is and if you make her feel bad about her whole glitter thing, I’ll—”

“Make her feel bad about it? Stanley, that’s the opposite of what I’d want. Mabel’s like Dipper and I,” Ford said, holding up a six-fingered hand and gesturing at Dipper’s forehead. Dipper blushed and flattened his hair further down his forehead. Ford didn’t notice Dipper reaction as he continued, “she’s different. This is—”

“Ford you had better knock that off right now,” Stan growled. He took a breath, running a hand down his face, “Dipper, take your water and go upstairs.”

Dipper fairly scampered up the stairs to escape his grunkles fighting, saying over his shoulder, “Good night Grunkle Stan. Good night Great-Uncle Ford.”

Stan waited until he heard the door to the kids’ room close very softly before saying to Ford, “Look, I know you learned to really lean into the whole thing about having six fingers. But those kids, they haven’t yet. Whenever you call attention to the things that make them different, things like that, it’s just embarrassing. Especially for Dipper. Mabel is either entirely too well-adjusted to the glitter thing or she’s in some of the deepest denial I’ve ever seen. But Dipper…talking about his whole forehead thing just makes him feel bad.”

“But I don’t mean it that way! It’s something that makes him special and he should be proud of it, not ashamed,” Ford explained. He’d lived almost half his life being ashamed of his sixth finger and he wanted to teach Dipper that there was no sense in feeling bad about something that was just a part of himself.

“It doesn’t matter how you mean it, genius. It’s still calling attention to something Dipper isn’t ready to accept yet. If you want to make him feel better, keep showing that you’re proud of your sixth finger or whatever, but if he isn’t ready to be casual about his birthmark, it’s just mean to keep bringing it up. Got it?”

Ford stared at Stan. He wasn’t sure what he found more surprising: that Dipper would in any way feel bad about what made him special, or that Stan could be so…sensitive to the needs of others. Still, it didn’t bear arguing about anymore tonight. This was something about which Ford needed to think.

“I will refrain from mentioning Dipper’s birthmark. But Stan, Mabel—”

“Mabel and her glitter thing is a different ballgame. You can ask her about it if you want,” Stan said reluctantly, “but you make it a conversation. Not an interrogation to put in your stupid nerd books.”

“Fine,” Ford said, standing up and slipping his journal into the pocket of his coat. He stalked down the hallway to his room, saying before he closed the door, “Good night Stanley.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuation that no one was expecting for a story that is definitely not a metaphor.  
> Ford addresses the Glitter Thing with Mabel, Mabel isn't particularly fussed about being your local anomaly, and Ford learns a lesson he wasn't looking to learn.

The next morning, Ford was ready. He’d done his best to sweep together all the glitter on the kitchen floor, piling it together before depositing it on the table. Beside it, he’d placed the bottles of craft glitter he’d found lying around the house. Mabel had more hidden away, he was relatively certain, but it at least provided a conversation starter.

Ford would be delicate in his questioning. Nonchalant. Contrary to whatever Stanley believed, he could be…tactful. All the times he got punch poured on him in high school or chased out of town by an angry mob over misspoken words, those didn’t count.

Ford heard the speedy stomps of children making their way downstairs. Hurriedly, he pulled out his journal and began adding some shading to his latest creature drawing—a particularly well-constructed image of Probabilitor—to try to make it look less like he was waiting.

Mabel appeared in the kitchen, going directly to the box of marshmallow cereal.

“Good morning, Grunkle Ford!” she chirped. Ford returned the sentiment absently, trying to see if the glitter visibly wafted off of her. Some specks sparkled in the morning light, but nothing directly tying cause to effect.

Mabel poured herself a bowl of cereal, making sure to pick a few extra marshmallows out of the cereal box. She sat across from Ford and poured milk over her cereal before she noticed the excessive amount of glitter on the table. The spoon that was halfway to her mouth dropped back into the cereal bowl with a splash as she stood up, slapping both hands on the table,

“Grunkle Ford, are you doing nerd science on glitter?”

 _A perfect opening_. Ford slipped his journal away. No note-taking. He schooled his face into something slightly more scholarly. “Yes. Mabel, do you see this pile of glitter here?” He gestured to the pile of floor glitter. “Do you know what makes this glitter special?”

“It has dried mac and cheese and some hair of various origins?”

“What? No. This glitter is special. It doesn’t come from any of these three glitter bottles. It is a glitter of indeterminate origin. Mabel, I believe that this glitter may be coming from an undiscovered anomaly, one living in this very house.”

Mabel shot him a look that said she knew he was lying and that he was very bad it. “The glitter comes from me, Grunkle Ford. See?”

She leaned forward and waved her hands in his face. There was no glitter on her hands, none that he saw fall off her hands, yet when he looked down glitter covered the table and his own hands.

 _So she is aware of her anomalous nature, then_.

“I see.” Ford grinned, looking at Mabel excitedly, “Mabel do you know what this means?”

“Whattawhat now?”

“Mabel, this means you’re special. It makes you different. Like me and my fingers,” he wiggled them at her, “Dipper and his birthmark. This makes you special.” Ford said it proudly and warmly, like a benediction.

Mabel didn’t look particularly proud, though. In fact, she looked, well she looked like Dipper, nervous and fidgety and unable to meet his eyes. Ford flash back to Dipper’s reaction yesterday, how he’d gone quiet when Ford mentioned the birthmark.

“I mean, the glitter is different, sure, but I don’t think that makes me special. And the birthmark doesn’t make Dipper special either.”

Ford was genuinely puzzled. Had he somehow miscommunicated to his great-niece the definition of ‘special’? But Mabel wasn’t done yet.

“And if you want, your fingers can be what makes you special. But Dipper’s special because he’s a code-cracking nerd and the coolest brother. I’m special because not just everyone can be this cute—” she shot Ford a con artist smile he knew she’d learned from Stanley “—and you’re special because you’re my nerdy Grunkle. Even Stan is special, because he’s a weird old man who’s only gross on the outside.”

Mabel took a bite of her cereal, the milk now turned brown from the cocoa cereal. She chewed once, then made a face.

“Bleaurgh, soggy cereal.” She started using the spoon to specifically fish only the marshmallows out of the bowl. “The glitter is cool, yeah. It gives my art that special spark, but it’s not like, _the_ thing that makes me special.”

Ford blinked. That was…something he had not expected.

“The glitter doesn’t make you feel strange?”

Mabel shrugged. “Not really. I shed glitter like Stan sheds old man hairs and like Dipper’s really sweaty. It’s just a thing. Plus, no one notices because I’m always covered in glitter anyway.”

That was true. Ford tended to see no less than three different kinds of glitter surrounding Mabel at any given time.

“An interesting perspective. And quite a holistic approach to identity.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment!” Mabel said, gesturing wildly with her spoon.

Ford laughed, standing up to get himself a cup of coffee.

“You definitely should.”

He poured himself a cup of coffee, six fingers wrapped around the handleless side of the mug. Mabel kept fishing marshmallows out of her cereal, ignoring the specks of glitter that started to float on the surface of the milk.

Ford watched his niece and had to smile to himself before sitting back and opening his journal, continuing his sketch of Probabilitor. Not what made her special indeed.


End file.
